PICHQA PACHAQ WATAMANTA / FIVE HUNDRED YEARS AFTER . Fredy Roncalla

Buscando un poema para acompanar a los amigos de Kloaka esta noche, encontre un viejo poema que andaba buscando. El oroginal (qorihina qallaynin) estava separado el verso, pero como se trata de un viejo file el wordress ha puesto en prosa otra posibilidad poetica. Hinapas kachun.  La poesia es siempre un proceso en movimiento y un desplazamiento espacial. Kikillaymanta chaytaqa tiqrasqani.  Acompanamos  la entrega con una generosa ilustracion hecha por Jose Diez.FREDY RONCALLA PICHQA PACHAQ WATAMANTA   Purun orqokunapi kumuykachaq apokuna,

qochamanta ruwasqan sonqochayoq mamakuna,

waylla ichu uywasqan,

para tarpusqan,

kuka kintunchik willasqan,

wayramanta pachayoq ranra rumi illakuna,

awkikuna,

wamanikuna,

tayta mamaykuna:

kaypim wawaykikuna kaqmanta takichkaniku

qankunamanta yuyarispa.

Qatun kuychis qankunawan kuska purichiwachkanku.

ñas pichqa pachaq watañam kanqa.

Chaysi tukuy mundupi inti, killa

wiraqochaq alman suwakuq runakuna

qatun raymitam ruwananku.

Wawaykikunapa yawarninwan purun allpata qarqosqamanta,

warmiykikunata waqcha wawata wachachisqankumanta

sumaqllataña kusikuchkanku.

PachaKutiq chawpillanpim iglesiankuta perqachkankuraq,

tutan punchaw qollqellawan musquspari

ñoqayllaykupaqmi kawsananku nichkanraqku.

Amataq tayta mamaykuna penqakunkichiqchu.

Sara tarpuypi, papa tarpuypi hina

llaqtapipas sallqapipas miskillatañas arawichkaniku

qankunawan kuska kaqmanta paqarinaykupaq.

Pichqa pachaq watañas upallalla kanaykuta munarqaku.

Ranrakunapi chinkakuq wiskacha hina,

chaki puqyukunapi yaku maskaq wikuña hina,

sachakunapi llullu qorata mana tarikuq tarukita hina

unaychus chinkamurankichik wakin runalla,

ayllupi tiyakuqkunalla qankunamanta yuyarisqaykumanta.

Willka mayutaq qankunawan kuska purichiwachkanku.

Kay qori usnu llaqtakunapi altun pawaq wamanchapas,

kunturchapas,

siwar qentichakunapas

kinaykunamanta pacha raprankuta kicharichkanku

sonqo rurupi aylluykuta waqaychaykuspa

imaymana runakunawanpas tinkunanpaq ima.

Chaysi manas pipas “Tiqsi wirakocha maypim kanki” ninankuchu.

Llapallayku huñunakuspayku kaqmantachus wiñarinkichik

ay taytallay mamallay

apokuna,

mamachakuna,

ranra rumi illakuna:

pichqa chunka watamanta pacham kuskallaña kasunchik.

FIVE HUNDRED YEARS AFTER   Oh! trembling gods from inside the mountains, goddesses with a heart made out of lakes, gods nurtured by the wild straws, planted by the rain, anounced by the sacred leaves of koka, dessed by the wind, and dwellers of stone fomations. Illas, awkis, wamanis, mothers and fathers in human form: Your sons and daughters sing again remembering you. They say that a huge rainbow lets us walk with you. The say it is about to be five hundred years. So, in the whole world those who have stolen the soul of the sun, the noon and the Wirachochas will celebrate. They are still very, very happy to have watered the waste land with the blood of your sons, and to have planted orfan children in the womb of your daughters. They still build their temples in the mist of chaos, and, dreaming with money day and night they want us to live for them. But, our gods, do not be ashamed. We still sing sweetly in the cities and the open spaces as if pronouncing the chants of corn and potato planting, so we can reemerge togheter with you. They wanted us to be silent for five hundred years. An you were lost for a long time like the viscachas running inside the boulders, like the thirsty vikuñas around the dry springs, and the deer that never found fresh leaves in the woods, because only some of us, those who lived in the ayllus still remebered you. But a sacred river makes us to walk toghether with you. In this cities of golden altars the hawks, the condors and the hummingbirds start their flight from our quenas so we can reach the peoples of the world still keeping our ayllus in the middle of the heart. They say that nobody should say: “Wirachocha, where are you?”. When all of us will get toghether perhaps you will grow again toghether with us after five hundred years oh! fathers and mothers, apos, mamachas, ranra rumi illakuna.

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